mind.”
“Which you obviously have. You mentioned college. Where did you go to school?”
This was getting a bit too personal to suit Josh. “Let’s just say I didn’t graduate and leave it at that, shall we?”
“Really? That surprises me since you seem so capable. What was your major?”
Standing abruptly, Josh picked up the taller drink and paused next to the table. “Sorry. I have to get back to work,” he said, forcing a smile, “and make sure the kids don’t download something that’s too advanced or adult for them. Enjoy your coffee.”
“What do I owe you?” Whitney called, lifting her cup for emphasis.
“No charge. It’s on the house.”
He could have told her that she owed him a lot more than she knew, but he held back. If things went as planned, he’d never have to reveal his part in the rescue of the struggling little town that was such a nostalgic part of his mother, Susanna’s, memories. At least not before he left there for good—and, hopefully, not even then.
He had not launched this recovery project for the accolades it might bring him. He had done it for unselfish reasons, to surprise and please his mother. However, considering the scope of his investment in the captivating Kansas town, he doubted he’d ever tell anyone how much of his personal fortune he had spent on the Save Our Streets project.
Josh huffed. So, Whitney wanted to know how being in Bygones for six months had affected him, did she? The honest answer was, adversely. He was actually starting to question the wisdom of his firm, sensible plans to sell out soon and move back to St. Louis.
Spending money to benefit others was not his problem. He simply hoped he had not inadvertently invested too big a part of himself.
* * *
Whitney took her time getting into her coat, wrapping the scarf around her neck and pulling on her gloves. Of all the merchants whom she had interviewed, this man was the hardest to understand. To begin with he had seemed a lot like the others, but as she’d gotten to know everyone else she had realized that Josh Smith was different.
Of course, any guy who lived and breathed computers the way he did had to be a little odd. And very intelligent. Perhaps that was why she was having such a hard time drawing him into a revealing conversation.
Watching him bending over one of the work stations in which the teens were engrossed, she shook her head. Truth to tell, she got more usable responses from Pepper, the talking parrot in Chase Rollins’s Fluff & Stuff pet shop, than she did from Josh.
Looking up the name Smith on college rolls was an option that was likely to take her forever. And, since he had dropped out, she’d have even less chance of learning anything about his past that way.
For the first time since she’d met him it occurred to her to wonder if Smith was his real name.
Shaking herself, she banished that thought. The SOS—Save Our Streets—committee had vetted each applicant. Coraline Connolly had headed up the process and nobody was going to put anything over on the savvy school principal.
Plus, Miss Coraline was Josh’s mentor for the project. There was no way he’d have been able to fool her. Absolutely not.
Waving to him as she deliberately passed close by, she said, “Thanks for the coffee.”
He barely glanced at her. “You’re welcome. Have a great day.”
“Oh, I plan to,” Whitney said, hesitating to make sure he was paying attention. “Since you’re not able to continue our interview, I think I’ll stop over at the school and see if Miss Coraline is too busy to chat.”
Josh’s head snapped around so quickly she wondered why the action didn’t give him whiplash. “Coraline? Why?”
“Because she’s the one who got the original letter that started all this new commerce,” Whitney said. “Besides, she’s the SOS committee member who was paired with you right from the start. I can get her take on the project from the beginning and see how positive she feels about the great progress everyone has made. It’ll be perfect background for my article. Bye now.”
If Whitney hadn’t been so determined to remain professional she might have giggled at his widening gaze and uneasy expression. Clearly, she had touched a nerve. Maybe she’d been going about this investigative reporting job all wrong. Maybe, instead of simply interviewing the newbies, she needed to go farther back. Dig deeper into the origins of the renewal plan. Ask to see the original paperwork instead of merely the copies that Coraline had circulated when she’d called the first town meeting and formed the oversight committee.
Although Josh had turned away from her as she walked to the door, she could still sense his awareness, still feel an inner vibration of the energy that had arisen from their proximity.
That shouldn’t surprise me, she admitted ruefully. When that man was around she could not ignore him. Not even a little.
Whitney smiled slightly as she walked back to her car. It was gratifying to see that Josh Smith was becoming as responsive to her presence as she was to his. Which was one more reason—perhaps the best reason of all—why she needed to know what he was hiding and why he refused to talk about his past.
Chapter Two
The spirit of Christmas was everywhere in Bygones. When Whitney turned onto Bronson Avenue on her way to the school she saw more sparkling decorations festooned with uncountable twinkling lights. Where the snow had melted from passing traffic, the red bricks of the street reflected the flickering above and lent a feeling of warmth to the otherwise wintry scene.
It was late enough in the afternoon for classes to have been dismissed. Coraline Connolly’s aging blue sedan, however, was still in the faculty parking lot. From the look of it, it had sat there all day because it was frosted with fluffy snow like a cake dusted with powdered sugar.
Whitney parked her Mustang next to Coraline’s car and entered the brick, two-story building. Inside, the halls were decorated with posters announcing a school Christmas program as well as the community caroling and tree-lighting ceremony at the park.
Nostalgia washed over Whitney, carrying her back to the thousands of times she had been in that building as a student. A deep breath brought the familiar odors of the place; a base of wet sneakers, glue, plastic and stale sack lunches overlaid with a hint of cleaning solution. She would have known where she was if she’d arrived there blindfolded.
The heels of her boots ticked a cadence on the polished hallway and echoed off the walls as she hurried toward the principal’s office. No matter how many times she came here, she always experienced a surge of memories that made her feel more like a teen than an adult.
Whitney was smiling when she paused at the open door to Coraline’s office and rapped on the jamb. “Good afternoon. Have you got a minute?”
“Of course, dear.” Circling her desk, the gray-haired principal opened her arms to her visitor and gave her a motherly hug. “I was meaning to phone you anyway, just hadn’t gotten around to it.” Her already pleasant smile widened and her blue eyes sparkled. “I need another volunteer to bake three dozen cookies for the tree-lighting ceremony this coming Saturday.”
